


Given Time

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Anger, Angst and Feels, Bonding, Confusion, Desperation, Dimension Travel, Emotional Manipulation, Escape Attempt, Fights, Forced Bonding, Gentleness, Heartache, Hostage Situations, Identity Reveal, Isolation, Magic, Mid-Canon, Mystery, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Plans, Possessive Behavior, Prison, Questions, Realization, Rescue, Shock, Sort Of, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide Attempt, Trust Issues, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Chase finds himself held prisoner in a mysterious room, but even that is less of a shock to him than the reveal of his captor. He'll need to keep his head clear and his wits about him if he wants to figure out why he's here and how to find his way home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's about time I started getting this cross-posted from Tumblr!  
Just a note: some of the Egos mentioned serve just small roles in the plot for now.
> 
> Updates are sporadic at best but I'm not going to give up!

“Who are you?!” Chase demanded again, voice shrill with desperation as it carried through his prison. It was indeed a prison, despite its amenities. The red carpet that spanned the whole room, the fully dressed bed, the wardrobe, the illuminated sink and mirror, the rich, burnished wood paneling of the walls—none of it made any difference to him. All he wanted was to learn why he was here.

His captor, a silhouette on the other side of the locked door, said nothing. They never did. They simply nudged a plate of food and a bottle of water through a small slat at the base of the door and then strode away. Chase strained his ears, following the thud of their boots until they grew too faint.

Gnawing on his lower lip, he eyed the plate. It did look enticing, steaming with ground beef, buttered green beans and mashed potatoes…There was even a bar of chocolate on the side, of all things! He had ignored all of the previous plates, as a show of defiance, but his captor didn’t seem to mind or even care. They just pushed the others through to him anyway. If Chase let them sit in his room, they stayed; his captor never took them back.

The longer he stared at the fresh plate, the tighter and queasier his empty stomach felt.

The pointedly-German voice of caution in his head muttered that the food could be drugged.

He only took the water.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

How long had it been? There were no clocks in the room and both his phone and his watch had been taken. Chase could only tell night and day by the rhythm of his body. He had spent the first “night” dozing fitfully against the wall. He hadn’t even intended to fall asleep, but after hours of frantically trying to kick open the panels, his body had given up.

On “Night Two”, he had taken a pillow from the bed and curled up in a tight, defensive ball on the carpet. He was so stiff the next morning he half-thought his captor had snuck in and somehow paralyzed him.

“Night Three”…he’d caved and taken the bed. It was there _for_ him, after all. He tore all of the carefully folded sheets apart, inspecting every stitch. From what he could see, there was nothing suspicious. The mattress was plush and the blankets were warm. He would never admit he was comfortable.

Tonight he wasn’t sleeping. Instead he scoured the room for tools he could use as weapons if need be. He found nothing but brushes for his hair, teeth, and the toilet. “Nice arsenal, Brody; you could give them a good jab in the eyes,” he growled sarcastically before hurling them aside. Maybe he could break the mirror, use the shards of glass—but that would mean hurting himself before he could even get within range of his kidnapper.

Would it be so bad? Overcome by a wave of helpless rage, he reeled back a fist.

The voice of safety in his head shouted. He could almost feel red-gloved fingers gripping his wrist like a vice, holding him back.

He let his arm fall back to his side.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

If only there was paper to write on here. Chase could already imagine himself, reclining on his bed in one of the robes from the wardrobe (which, alarmingly, were exactly his size) with a journal and a weighted gold pen to scrawl down his thoughts.

_Yeah_, he mused, snorting softly. _I can see it: Hello, dear diary, I’ve been in the most well-funded solitary isolation room for 100 days now. It’s still just as posh as it was the first day I got here. I _love_ the service! My kidnapper is so polite and courteous; be sure to give them a generous tip for leaving me here in peace…for hours…to relish the quiet and contemplate my inevitable demise._

He should have stopped up short at that idea. He should have shaken himself out of it. _Of course you won’t die here. The others are coming. They’ll be here to rescue you soon_.

He didn’t. Instead he rolled over, drawing one of the pillows close to squeeze. His fingernails dug harshly into the case, leaving creases in the fabric as he squeezed his eyes shut against the swell of anxiety.

_No. No panicking, no fear—Don’t be stupid, Chase, don’t go down that road. They’re not here to talk you down if you—Hh, okay, just breathe. Just stay calm. In for four seconds…Out for seven seconds. Don’t get yourself all worked up._

His eyelids screwed up tighter and his seven-second exhale was shaky as it passed quivering lips. _No, no, no. No crying. Stop_.

The voice of vulnerability in his head was silent under the sound of his gasps, but he could imagine a speech slide glowing in the dark, trying to console him.

He buried his face in the pillow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He hated himself.

On what he thought might be “Day Seven”, his hunger had finally overcome any of his inhibitions; he had taken the helping of roast chicken and vegetables mere minutes after it was delivered. He didn’t even have utensils; he ate with his hands, wincing only slightly as the hot food singed his fingertips. He couldn’t care, he couldn’t. He needed _something_ more in his stomach than water!

As soon as the plate and his fingers were clean, the feeding frenzy mentality wore off. He froze, staring down at his done deed.

The voice of self-loathing in his head sneered.

_Wou͏l͢d͡ y̵o͟u̧ l̷o̧ok at ̡t͘ha͠t? Cha͟se ̸B̵r҉ody is a pa̧mpe̡r҉ed_ _pu͟p̶p͡y͟ ̨n͟ow! L͡i̸çking the ͘bo̴t͢tom o̕f͏ h͠is d̨i̵sh͜ a̷s͜ s͠o̷on ͜as it’s t͜h͢ro͞ug̷h҉ the͢ ̡ḑo͏gg̴y do͠o͠r—Y̨ou’re s͢ure ͠to ̧g̴et a̷ g͝ǫo͝d s͢c͝r̨atc͜h͞ b͝ehin̛d t͝h͠e̵ ͟ea̛rs fo͠r i̢t!_

Nausea rose as a sour, acrid taste at the back of his throat as he hastily pushed the plate away, his breath quickening. His eyes darted toward the toilet as his stomach turned with shame. He could vomit but then he’d be in the very same position, empty and starving until the next meal came.

_Ke͡ep i͜t ͠d̵ǫw̧n, m̷u̴tt_. _Yo͡u ͞wer̛e a̡l̡re͜a͡dy̢ too wea͘k͢ t̡o r͢es̶i͡st it;̢ ͢th̴e̴r҉e'͟s̴ ͜no̴ ̵g͢o͠i̴ng̵ ba͟c̵k!_

He kept it down.

When he woke on “Day Eight”, the dishes he had ignored and the one he had emptied were gone, cleared away. His captor had been in this very room while he was sleeping and he hadn’t stirred. He did flee to hide his face in the toilet then.

_G̡ood ͝boy_.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chase woke. He woke but he didn’t open his eyes. His skin crawled, a shiver leaving a trail of goosebumps down his back as he realized…someone was _touching_ him. There were warm, calloused fingers ghosting through his hair. This was a man’s hand. It took everything he had not to tense or screech or lash out. By some miracle he remained perfectly still, forcing his lashes not to flutter, forcing his breaths to stay even and slow.

His captor spoke.

“I…I still don’t even know what to say to you,” he whispered, hoarse and tight. “I’ve tried writing things down but it always sounds so…I want to find something to say that will make you understand.” A feeble, humorless chuckle escaped him. “But if you’re anything like I _know_ you are…you’ll be stubborn. You’ll still want to go back.”

Chase’s heart was pounding so hard in his ears that he wondered in terror if the man would hear it. His fingers were gaining more traction, scraping softly over Chase’s scalp in what could have been a soothing gesture. It felt so familiar.

“I just…” His voice hitched faintly. He audibly swallowed. “I just want you safe.”

As soon as the fingers in his hair trailed to his forehead, brushing over the scars across his temple, Chase bolted upright with an unintelligible scream, fighting the blankets to scratch and kick at whatever he could reach. Reeling back, the other spat shocked curses, throwing his hands up to shield himself. All Chase saw was a disorienting explosion of blue before he was hurled sideways. He collided with the wardrobe with a resounding crash, crying out as pain shot through his skull. His opponent cried out too.

“Chase?!”

Stars were still cascading through his vision from the flash of light. Whimpering, he curled into himself, flinching away from the hands that grabbed his shoulders. He lashed out blindly, yelping when both of his hands were seized and pinned against the wardrobe doors in a vice grip.

“Chase! I’m _sorry_, I didn’t mean to! Stop, please, stop fighting me! You’re safe!”

“Let me go!” he wailed, shaking his throbbing head in a vain attempt to clear the dizziness. “Let me—!”

As he looked up, his pleas stuck in his throat.

He stared, wide-eyed, openmouthed.

He stared at matted brown hair streaked with green and gray, at scars harsh and broad spanning across ashen cheeks, at deep, deep shadows from what had to be _hundreds_ of sleepless nights under his eyes.

“Who are you?” he choked out in a whisper. It couldn’t be…

The concern and fear in Marvin’s face vanished. He took a measured breath, tightening his hold on Chase’s wrists until it was sure to bruise. “I’m your brother,” he answered through gritted teeth. “And you’re _mine_, and this is where you are staying. For your own good.”


	2. Chapter 2

He wouldn’t stop _screaming_. Seated in the old computer room a hallway down from the <strike>cells </strike>bedrooms, Marvin tilted a heavy head back, staring at the security feeds as agony and guilt and anger coiled in his stomach.

As soon as Chase overcame his initial shock at seeing Marvin’s face, he’d tried to lash out again in panic, in a need for answers, and Marvin didn’t blame him. That being said, he wasn’t ready. With a brief flash of magic that shouldn’t have been as easy as it was, Marvin had forced him out of consciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he’d whispered as Chase’s eyes rolled back…but as soon as he slumped forward against him, sound asleep, his regret disappeared. He had his brother in his arms, safe and sound. This was how everything was meant to be. He had carried him as carefully as he could back to his bed, his back cramping, and had retreated as soon as he was well tucked in.

Now that the spell had worn off, however, Chase was up on his feet at the door, pitching a fit.

“_Marvin!_ Stop ignoring me! Where are you?! Let me out _now_ and tell me what the hell is going on! I know you can hear me! Why are you doing this?! Just let me out!”

By the twenty-minute mark, Marvin was dully surprised he hadn’t shouted himself hoarse yet. He wasn’t as passive as he’d remembered <strike>hoped </strike>and it was starting to become a headache. After another moment or two, he muted the feed, leaning his forehead against his folded hands.

He was tired.

_I didn’t want this. I knew he’d ask all these questions but I didn’t want it…_yet_. He was supposed to get used to being here before he ever knew who I was!_

But being close to him again, watching him sleep, running his hand through his hair to soothe him just as he always did…That had been even better than he’d imagined it. He held that feeling close and tight in his chest, trying to carve its presence deep. That kind of familiarity and tenderness and safety was all his. Theirs. It always had been.

In a way, it was something to prove. _You see that, Jackie? Henrik? Have your bond if you will. This is _mine_, with _my_ brother, who loves _me_ more than anyone_. As always, he quashed the thought before it became too bitter.

That was his Chase—and this, too, was his Chase, willful and determined and wild, untamable.

Marvin didn’t need to tame him. He just needed to conjure up answers that would _pacify_ him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Marvin! _Let me out!_”

Chase’s voice finally broke and as he pounded at the locked door a searing pain shot through his hand, making him flinch. With a muttered curse he rubbed at it, backing down momentarily.

For all of his hollered curses and the blood throbbing through his palm and his ears, he wasn’t as angry as he seemed—or _tried_ to seem. Rather his mind was a snarled tangle of confusion, hurt and fear. He had honestly believed that if or when he discovered his captor’s identity, it would make him braver. It would make it easier to stand up to them; at the very least it would eliminate one unknown.

But Marvin?

_Why?_

Why was he keeping him here? Why did he look so strange? Moreover, why had it taken Chase so long to recognize him? Shouldn’t he have known as soon as he heard his voice?

His voice of doubt and self-loathing wasn’t slow to speak up.

_M͏ay͜be ҉you ͟do̴n'͜t̵ ̶know̛ y҉ou̶r ͝fąvorite̡ br̷o͘t̷her a̷s ͡w̸e͝l̶l as ̨y̵ou th͠oug̷ht_.

_No, he—he looks different! All those scars on his face, he’s never had those. He’s not going gray! He’s not—He doesn’t…look at me like that._

A shiver clung to his back as he remembered the vivid light in his brother’s eyes, hot and cold, intense enough to burn a hole through Chase’s head. A choked, awful laugh escaped him at that particular metaphor.

_Yo͏u ͘k͟n͘ơw ͜how ͡vo̧ļa͟t̨i͝l͏e ḩe can̢ ̶b͜e_. _Y̶o̵u’re͢ ̵scar̛e̛d͞ ǫf̸ hi̸m.҉ ͡You’re ̴s̡ca͝re͜d o҉f͘ ҉w̶h̴a͟t ̡he ͞coưld d̛o ̢to ̨y͢o̴u_. _Y̵o̴u ̡k͠no̧w he̵ ͘has th͢e po͏w̶ȩr to k͜eep ̶y҉ou h͜ere ̨_ _b̢y ̴an̶y͝ ̶me͘a͜ns͠ ̴n҉e̢çessa͞ry and ͜he͢ ̷mig̨ht̢ neve͡r even tell ̧y̨o͞u why!_

His voice of safety barked back.

_Marvin would never hurt me! He would never hurt any of us!_

_Oh, but ͠M͟ar͢vin͝ would ͜ne͘v͟er͘ ͞ke͟e͜p͢ ͘yo̵u ̡in̶ a padded ͟cage̴ likȩ an̡ ͞ani̵ma̧l͝ e͝ith͜e̵r̵_. _Unl͢ȩsş..͢.͜_

_That’s not my Marvin_.

The voice of caution clamored.

_If he is a puppet, Anti has convinced him to do this in some delusion try for you to “stay safe”, so you will be where he can keep the eyes on you always. The monster has made Marvin the guard so you do not want to hurt him, so you do not try to escape!_

“For my own good…” he breathed. “That’s what he said.”

The voice of vulnerability quavered.

** _Then what might we do?! We’ve no desire to hurt Marvin, but he’s not in his right mind. He’s unsound, he’s dotty! How might we convince him to listen without hurting him?_ **

_Y͡ou͝ kno̴w ho̵w ̕sin͞gl͞e-m̢inde̴d̨ pu͡ppets ͡ar͜e̶. Ḩe won’t ͝lis͜ten ̕u͟nl̢e̛s̴s͟ ̴yo͜u͝'͢r͜e will͞ing͜ ̨to ̸d͠o̡ ̨what̢ev̢er ̶it ̸t͡a͡kes! Don͠’t ̴b͟e ͟a ̵cǫward,͘ ̛b̴o̴y.̴ Wh̢at ̵ar͡e ͘y̷ou w̴il̵l̨i͠n̷g t͡o ̧do to ̕be ̴f̡re̶e͞? T̷o͡ fin̶d͡ ͟a͢nsweŗs?͜_

As he looked the door up and down, nervous unease churned in his stomach, along with a faint rumble of hunger.

_Maybe…we’d only need to h͟ur҉t him̧ a little_.


	3. Chapter 3

Two apples, two peaches, two kiwis, a pint of strawberries and a jar of homemade apple butter. Marvin had been longing and preparing for this day for so long now that it was surreal for him to be pulling the apple butter from the back of the freezer.

Pensively he ran his thumb over the crinkly, handwritten tag taped to the side: _Marvin’s bomb butter! :)_ Chase’s handwriting, quick and bold and sloppy—yet still more legible than Schneep’s ever had been. He could take Marvin’s apple butter with every meal, he always said, grinning as he licked it off his sticky fingers like a kid. The label had faded with time and softened with water from washing and rewashing, but somehow it clung to the glass with the same determination as all of his memories.

Marvin’s voice of admonishment crashed in. _You’re wasting time standing here doing nothing; stop fantasizing. Chase is hungry. I wouldn’t think after all this work you’ve done to get him here, you’d just let him starve_.

Sighing deeply, he set the jar aside and reached out, fiddling resignedly with the broken handle of the cabinet by his head. Jackieboy had slammed it too hard and it never got fixed. Marvin should get around to that. Sooner or later…or maybe not. Too much effort. Chase’s breakfast was more important.

_Dice the fruit in a bowl. Add the butter. Put it in the fridge. Blend some batter. Pan over medium heat. Cook the crepes until golden brown and then top them with the fruit. Why is your throat tight, you idiot? Rub your eyes. Keep your hair back. Stop getting distracted and make this good for him_.

_Are these still his favorite? They have to be. At least there’s nothing in them that he _wouldn’t_ eat…unless it was to spite me for keeping him here. Yeah, that I could see._

They were meant to be something of a peace offering—if not that, then something that could be a point of understanding between them. _See, Chase? See? I know you. I care about how you’re feeling. _After a long, long moment of hesitation, Marvin took up the can of whipped cream and cautiously drew a little smiley face on each of the crepes’ crisp folds. _I want you to be happy_.

Even his best plate was scuffed, he noted somberly as he braced himself. Tracing two shaky fingers counterclockwise around its rim, he felt the moment that the glass started ringing with his magic—it felt like a slap to the face. A deep, raw ache shivered through him, followed by frustration. Such a simple spell and he was already having trouble?

“_Care of conscience flow from me_,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “_Power…of…_nngh_. Power of peace flow from me. If only temporary, soothe my loved one’s restless heart and quiet his mind. Swathe him in serenity. Preserve him in comfort_.”

The plate wobbled as he hurriedly braced himself against the counter, his breath catching weakly. It wasn’t a perfect enchantment, not by a long shot, but it would suit his needs; it would calm Chase down, maybe even let them have a proper interaction without hundreds of angry questions.

_You drug him to make him meek. Magic, medical, it is a drug all the same_, his voice of bitterness scoffed.

**_No true brother would stoop to that low_**, his voice of distance commented lightly.

“Shut up,” he hissed as he fished out a fork.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chase’s nerves were eating at his stomach like a colony of ants as he paced the length of his room. With his (admittedly half-baked) plan tumbling around in his head all night, he’d only managed a light, disjointed sleep, jolting awake earlier than he had intended—or at least that’s what he assumed, since his plate of breakfast wasn’t here yet. As tired as he was, it was a relief. If he’d slept through the breakfast drop-off, he would have missed his chance until lunch.

“Am I really trying this?” he muttered, wiping his hands down his jeans as the voices in his head clung to him.

_This must be quick as a snap, my friend, or he will overwhelm you. If there is a fight back, is all over_.

_Remember what I taught you. Pull, cradle, lock, up and around_.

**_Keep sharp! Look lively, no hesitations_**.

_O͜n͢e c̕ha̸nce, ͢boy͠_.

Chase tensed as the echo of Marvin’s footsteps caught his attention, growing nearer, and raced to bend down at his side of the door. What position should he take? Should he crouch? Should he kneel? With haste he formed an awkward combination of both, holding his breath as Marvin stopped outside his door. To his momentary disbelief, he gently knocked.

“Chase? You awake? I, um…I made some crepes for you. Fruit salsa? I know they’re your favorite.” His voice fell low for a moment. “Obviously. I’m your brother, of course I know.” He waited through a beat of silence before clearing his throat. “Do you want to take them yourself or should I just drop them in?”

_Why is he even asking? Why’d he knock? Is he actually trying to be _polite_ after keeping me in here for days?_ Gritting his teeth, Chase bit back an angry reply. _Be patient_…

“Okay,” Marvin concluded softly after almost a full minute. “They’ll be there when you want them.” On that note, the slat near the base of the door opened for him to maneuver the food through.

As soon as his hand crossed the threshold, Chase lunged, snatching at his wrist and heaving with all his might. The plate went flying and Marvin cried out in shock and pain, pulled sideways onto the floor as Chase twisted his arm up and back, his elbow pinned in the slot.

“C-Chase! _Agh!_ What’re you doing?!”

“I’ll break it!” he hollered anxiously, tugging harder. “I-I’ll break your arm if the pain’ll get you out of whatever mind control he’s got you under!”

“What? Who?!”

“Anti! He’s messing with your head, Marvin; he’s changed you! You don’t know what you’re doing! I know you think it’s to keep me safe but he just wants me trapped in here so I can’t do anything to get him away from you!” A shred of his anger peeled away as he pleaded. “Come on, bro, snap out of it! You’re not his puppet, no matter what he’s made you think—!”

Marvin’s spasming fingers sparked and crackled with faint blue light, sending a somersault of fear through Chase’s stomach, but he didn’t fire.

“You’re right, I’m not!” he yelped, gasping as his arm jerked on reflex. “I’m not, I’m not a puppet! I’m not under his control, I’m in my right mind! Agh! Chase, please, let_ go!_”

“_You_ let _me_ go! You unlock this door, you let me outta this room and prove it to me! Prove to me you’re not helping Anti!”

“_Anti is dead!_”

Chase’s blood flash-froze. That split second was all it took for his grip to go slack and Marvin wrenched out of his hands, rescuing his arm with a choked curse. Paralyzed, Chase did nothing to stop him, the slot in the door falling shut with a dull clang as the magician leapt to his feet and bolted.


	4. Chapter 4

Blood roared in Marvin’s ears as he sprinted back down the hall, cradling his arm tight against his side. When he finally made it back out to the living room, he found it in himself to slow to a stop. _Take a breather_.

Inhaling sharply, he lifted his arm for examination and winced at the tender bruises already forming. Chase had been none too gentle in his interrogation. Why hadn’t Marvin _expected_ that? So unbelievably stupid—Chase wasn’t going to fall all over himself to trust him just because he made him a cute breakfast!

Tears of frustration gathered in his eyes as he whirled around, cursing viciously and kicking the nearest rickety chair with enough force to crack its leg. When it crumpled, so too did his momentary resolve to storm back and give Chase’s arm a twist, see how he liked it. That wasn’t what he truly wanted, not in the slightest.

His voice of rage hissed. _You͜’re too ̷e̴ąşy̷ ơn hi̛m. T̶a̧k̶e̶ wha͟t҉ yo͜u w҉ant̷!_

_I can’t. It’s the one thing I can never force him to give me! It won’t be real_.

None of the other voices clamored to chime in, but the judgement, disappointment and self-loathing were building with every quickening breath, tangling up his thoughts like a ball of barbed wire. He had been so _careless_, he’d blurted out too much! Sweat broke out along the nape of his neck, all moisture fled his mouth and his ribcage started to ache as his heart throbbed against it. Dizziness swept over him as he pressed a trembling hand to his face, trying to recompose himself. _Stop, stop, stop feeling this way. This isn’t happening_.

It was. The anxiety wouldn’t be held back, crawling its way up his esophagus to wrap like a snake around his throat. 

It felt like his feet were never hitting the floor as he forced himself forward, numbly bracing himself against the wall. He couldn’t do this alone. He had to talk to someone. He had to talk to _him_. Confiding in him would clear his head! He just had to make it to the lab.

Marvin hadn’t gone to see him in a while now, a few weeks. A ragged noise, half-laugh and half-sob, escaped him as he continued. What would he think of Marvin stumbling in to visit him like this, falling apart at the seams? He’d be less than impressed.

The doorknob slipped through his sweaty palms three times before it popped open. “H-Hey,” he gulped hoarsely. “Uh, c-can we—can I talk to you? Please?”

His confidant didn’t move; he didn’t even look at him as he approached, stumbling sideways and sinking down onto the only fluffed cushion left on the dusty couch he’d moved in from the living room. His knuckles went white as he clasped his hands between his knees in a desperate attempt to keep them still. He hadn’t been given permission to speak but judging by the cold, alienated silence it would never be given. He didn’t bother waiting for it any longer. 

“I don’t know what to do here, Sam,” he breathed. “I just—I finally have everything I’ve been trying to achieve for_ so long_. I have Chase exactly where I want him, where I _need_ him. He’s finally safe, but how am I supposed to keep him here if he stays this resistant?!” He gasped again, lowering his head. “I should’ve never let him find out it was me, not this soon! He wasn’t ready!”

Only slightly did Sam turn from where he sat in the darkest corner of his tank, his nerve ending creating small bubbles as it lashed. Marvin could feel the mascot’s mental pressure on the edges of his mind: his _anger_, unadulterated. He continued despite it.

“He isn’t ready to hear anything I have to tell him. He can’t even begin to understand!” A shrill laugh escaped him. “He thought I was a puppet. Isn’t that _cute?!_ He thought Anti was controlling me! Oh, if he understood anything…”

Sam didn’t seem to see the sick humor in the situation. His tail lashed again.

“If I do tell him, I don’t even know if he’ll believe me. After all, ha, a ‘puppet’ could make up any story to defend holding him here! Why…Why couldn’t he just consider for one second that this could be for his good? He knows me! He knows I just want to protect him!”

The voice of admonishment dragged at him. _Oh, really? Does he? The Chase you think you know, the Chase you would do anything for—he just attacked you. How much does that say about your assumptions? You can’t control him. You have no _right_ to him._

“He’s…He’s my brother…”

When he lifted his head again, he cringed a little when he found Sam peering at him.

“I _want_ him to be my brother again,” he revised weakly. “I want to have him with me at the table for breakfast. I-I want to hear him talk all about his kids and Youtube and make stupid jokes. I want him to run to me when he’s scared because he knows I can protect him.” His chest constricted awfully at those words. “I’d protect him from anything. I have to. I want to be his safe place again. But…he doesn’t know me like this. I want him to be here with me willingly but what am I supposed to do if he won’t?”

_Red, black, white_.

Marvin choked. Sensing he’d gotten the proper reaction out of him, Sam repeated his accusation, the psychic whisper as loud as a hurricane.

_Red, black, white_. _Blood, burn, bone_.

Somehow Marvin managed to lunge upright onto trembling legs. “It wasn’t…I did everything I could. I gave it everything I had!”

_Blood, burn, bone_.

“It wasn’t my fault!”

_Red, black, white. Blood, burn, bone. END MY SUFFERING_.

Before Marvin could even fully grasp those words, Sam hurled himself forward, slamming into the side of the tank with brutal speed and force. The glass cracked, septic fluid spurting, and Marvin dove to meet it.

“_No!_ No, no, stop it!” he implored, smacking his hand over the damage. Sam spiraled back and forth in rage, ramming the same spot again and again in an effort to lengthen the cracks. Hyperventilating, Marvin choked out his spells, vivid blue light filling the seams of the glass to fuse them. “I won’t let you die!”

Blood was leaking from Sam’s constricted pupil by the time he finally accepted his defeat, trailing toward the bottom of the tank and staring the Ego down with an expression of absolute loathing.

_END ME_, he hissed._ END ME. END ME_.

A fresh headache hammering at his temples, Marvin leaned his forehead against the barrier between them, glowing eyes slipping tiredly shut. “…No.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chase had a feeling that he’d made a mistake.

His genius plan to pin Marvin there with no escape and get some solid answers had backfired spectacularly; now Chase never even saw him. Every morning when he woke up, there would be three sealed food containers, not plates, stacked on the inside of the door. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Marvin equipped him for the day when he could be sure Chase wasn’t awake to attack him again.

Why did Chase feel this strange, twisted sense of guilt for that? No, he had never wanted to hurt him but he had been desperate. _If he wasn’t holding me hostage, I wouldn’t have needed to!_ But now that Marvin was actually acting hurt, it gnawed at Chase.

Maybe it was a ruse for the express purpose of making him feel bad. That was Stockholm syndrome, right? Start sympathizing with your captor? _But…it’s Marvin. Of course I’m going to sympathize with him_.

That shouldn’t be his main focus right now. His main focus was to process the bomb Marvin had dropped on him before he escaped: Antisepticeye, the monster, the seemingly unstoppable force, was _dead?_

How was that even supposed to work? How could they have actually killed him when they were still struggling to grasp the concept of how he existed?

_And, oh, I don’t know, I think I would have remembered if we had finally gotten rid of the demon that’s been putting us through hell for so many years. Besides, if Anti is defeated and there’s nothing to fear from him anymore, why would Marvin keep me here?_

Yet again he wished he had some pen and paper to scribble down his thoughts, try to chart things out, take notes…and then a weak laugh escaped him. He sounded like a theorist. As it was, he could only roll Marvin’s words back and forth from one corner of his mind to the other, trying to make sense of them.

Hearing that Anti was dead should have made him feel better. It should have made him celebrate, but instead it just felt like a piece of yet another unfinished puzzle. There were far too many of those in this situation for his liking.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From Chase’s best estimate, it had been four or five days since he’d heard Marvin’s footsteps or voice. As much as he hated to admit it, this unsettled discomfort in his chest only grew every day he woke up to find those meals passively stacked for him, with nothing else to show for it.

Was he thinking of this entirely wrong? Was it realistic to assume that he would feel _nothing_ but anger toward Marvin all the time for this? Probably not. He was angry and hurt, yes, but as the days in his room dragged on, the anger gave way to confusion, then the confusion to boredom, then boredom to listlessness…then listlessness to loneliness. Trapped in solitary isolation, with only one person providing him with his needs…he missed him.

He had denied the feeling at first. _It’s not him that I miss. It’s the freedom. It’s the opportunity to get something out of him, the opportunity to escape!_ Yet he found himself mulling over the moment he’d grabbed his arm. That was the last human contact he’d had. Just the thought of how slowly time was passing since then made Chase’s skin feel raw and tight on his bones.

He cried in his sleep that night, though he didn’t know it.

Marvin did.

The next day, Chase blearily sat up in his bed to find the same three meals, one after the other, but something planted next to them caught his eye. Once he realized what it was, he couldn’t scramble over to get it fast enough. Marvin had given him a book? A graphic novel! Chase’s eyes were huge and a lump formed in his throat as he absorbed the scene on the cover: Jackieboy soaring through the sky over the city, looking majestic and proud.

Was this Marvin’s way of reconciling after their scuffle? Was this his way of giving him company? Whatever the motive behind the gesture, Chase wasn’t about to reject it after almost a week of cold disconnection. Sinking down where he was on the carpet, he opened the gift in his lap with care, curiosity and longing. Tears blurred his view of the colors as he peered close at the courage and light in Jackieboy’s illustrated eyes. He knew that light so well. He ached for it.

By the time his food containers were empty later that night, he’d read through the novel twice. The voice of safety was steady, close and consoling in his head. He could imagine Jackieboy there with him, keeping him warm with his chest to his back and his arms tight around him in that familiar, inescapable hug.

The next morning, his heart jumped when he found another gift: a game, a _very_ familiar one. Chase was torn between smiling a little and rolling his eyes as he picked up Operation.

“You have Rudolph Syndrome, Peter,” he mumbled in a small Schneep impression as he carried it back to set up on his bed. That entertained him for a good few hours, longer than it ever would have if he were anywhere else.

The day after that he received a mystery novel with JJ’s handwriting on the inside cover and he cried one more time.

The little blessings and entertainments continued—a game, a book, a comic, until Chase had a small collection to keep on the nightstand. Tonight it was another Jackieboy Man graphic novel, unrelated to the first, but Chase wasn’t picky. His sigh was one of satisfaction as he reached the last line, flipping to the “About the Author” segment.

All of his comfort and complacency vanished. Sitting bolt upright in his bed, he drew in a shaky breath. It couldn’t be. There was no way that could really be…

_Lydia Carter is the award-winning author and illustrator of over ten graphic novels, including Jackieboy Man: Battle for the Mask, Jackieboy: Death by Design and Jackieboy Man VS. Absolute Zero. From sketching out amateur panels in the breakroom of her local coffee shop to working with well-known publishers such as C&D and Prodigy, she has over ten years of experience. Carter currently lives in Elvery Heights with her husband, Jake, and their Maltese terrier._

“What?” he sputtered, gawking at the picture of Lydia, _Jameson’s_ Lydia, contentedly smiling away with her foreign husband beside her and the dog on her lap. That was Vanilla Bean, the dog she and _Jameson_ had adopted together. “No. No, no, this is…”

The voice of vulnerability in his head was quaking. **_It cannot be! It cannot, it’s simply not true!_** All of the stray puzzle pieces were pouring back into his mind all at once, scrambling, scattering, spinning.

“What’s _wrong_ with this place?!” Throwing the novel aside, Chase pressed his hands to his head as it pounded. All at once the lights in the room were far too bright for his eyes, searing into him with dizzying force. Everything was out of sync! Lydia married and selling books, Anti gone with no explanation, Marvin with scars and gray hairs, almost unrecognizable—It was like a—

As the pieces fit into their slots, Chase felt the room dip and swim around him. Sickness boiled in his stomach, unable to surface, and a hot chill clung to his back.

His voice of loathing was loud and clear. _You’re m͜u̶ch̶ f͏a̶rt͜her fr͞om҉ h͜o̧m͜e tha͜n͞ you ͘th̵oug̛h͏t,̢ Br̶ody_.

He was in a different universe.


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as he layered the last of his protection spells over the glass of Sam’s tank, Marvin stumbled back, breathing heavily. He could feel his blood singing and his scalp tingling; the next time he looked in a mirror, he had a feeling he would see a few fresh gray hairs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped weakly, swallowing hard as Sam turned spitefully away from him. “But it’s…it’s for your own good.” When he sensed he would get nothing more out of his friend, he hesitated just a moment more and then retreated.

The hallway felt cramped as he made his way back, like it was trying to hem him in, but even when he made it to the kitchen, the feeling didn’t abate. Agitated, he glanced around, taking in the sputtering light, the scratched counters, the dust lining the ceiling fan…Every day, all the same sights. He needed to get out.

_What if I leave Chase and he—? No. No, there’s no way he could. It’s safe. It’s perfectly safe and secure_. Though he wavered over it for a solid minute, the swell of anxiety was too much to ignore. “Stay safe,” he whispered with a last glance toward Chase’s room before he made his way out.

When was the last time he’d gone outside? It might have been his last grocery run…a month ago? He didn’t eat very fast these days. The air should have felt good on his face and neck, but the longer Marvin stood beyond the door, the more he wanted to scurry back indoors. He couldn’t. He needed to walk off this stress, find a way to calm his nerves.

The walk to the city was a long one, but calling a taxi was a complication he didn’t want to deal with. His knees were cramping by the time he made it far enough in to spot the first cars and pedestrians—pale, watery spots of color against the backdrop of drab gray buildings. The wind felt thin and cold as it carried the stale muttering from people on their phones or on benches…and someone was crying. Marvin looked on.

The source was a little boy being dragged across the street by his mother, who looked more tired and resigned than angry with him. She wasn’t even trying to shush or scold him. Shockingly enough, it was almost refreshing to see someone make such a big show of emotion. The boy kicked and shrieked and wailed, until he caught sight of Marvin in the corner of his eye. Wordlessly the magician waved, and by the time the boy and his mum made it all the way through the crosswalk, a mesh bag of chocolate coins materialized in his little hand.

_No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted_. Marvin forced himself to walk on before his voice of admonishment could disagree. A coffee for the man on the bench, a balloon for that girl, some crumbs for the ducks drifting silently across the pond’s eerily still water…What could go wrong with that?

Before long, the wind picked up, forcing Marvin to jam his hands into his armpits in a vain attempt to keep them warm. It was going to be winter soon…not that he could see much difference between winter and autumn. The trees had changed colors, yes, but the leaves were already crumbling to the ground under people’s feet.

How far would he have to walk before he heard someone laugh? he wondered, already knowing the answer. It would be a long, long, long way. Maybe it was only the newborns who laughed these days; they couldn’t understand the kind of city they were being born into. If only they could stay that young forever.

Were babies even being made anymore? He wouldn’t know if they were, he wouldn’t know if they weren’t. Maybe it was better if he didn’t find out. He definitely wasn’t about to go visit the hospital.

The ringing of a bell on a shop door distracted him then. As he turned, Marvin stumbled a little on the cobblestones, narrowly recapturing his balance before looking up to lock eyes with the shop owner. His heart skipped a beat.

Shawn Flynn stared back at him, expressionless, but his eyes were moving. He was sizing Marvin up, taking in the sight of him. Marvin had a feeling that he was looking at Shawn similarly. After a pause, Shawn continued his previous work, bending down to heft up a box of books and papers and carry it inside. He didn't seem to care whether or not Marvin followed.

_Don’t do it, idiot_.

The bell jingled again.

“You’re a long way from home, aren’tcha?” Shawn snorted as he settled behind the counter. “I take it you’re not here to pick up some light reading.”

“…What exactly are _you_ here for?” Marvin murmured, scanning the packed shelves. “Shouldn’t you be back at the studio? This is just your front.”

“Oh, it was. Now it’s my full-time job—well, part-time. Not very many people come in anymore, but I keep everythin’ open just in case.” When Marvin didn’t answer right away, he drummed his fingers on the countertop before reaching for his nearby thermos. Marvin endured the obnoxious cadence of his slurping for a solid fifteen seconds before he broke again.

“Do you expect me to think you’re ‘reformed’ or something?”

Shawn’s teeth were black with ink as he forced a grin. “Not at all, _pet_. I wouldn’t even try to convince you, cos I’m not. If you hadn’t gone and done everythin’ you did, I would still be doing everything in my power to get the credit and attention I deserve.” He took another deep gulp of the ink before setting it aside. “But you stole that chance, as always…even if you didn’t mean to.”

“I _didn’t_ mean to. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.”

“Marvin. I know.” In any other circumstance, Shawn would have laughed to see the great and magnificent magician peeking nervously over at him, as if for validation, but he didn’t. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. He tilted his head instead. “You think you would be able to take all the bad with the good, if you could reverse it all?”

Marvin’s gaze clouded over, though he didn’t look away. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “Yes. All of it and more. But there’s no way of going back.”

The ink burbled quietly in its thermos. Shawn glanced down, tracing his hand around the rim to soothe it, and he didn’t look up again until he heard the shop door ring and fall closed.

By now the wind felt like a slap to the face, stinging Marvin’s eyes as he strode hurriedly down the block. Leaving home was a mistake, he shouldn’t have come here. He needed to get back to Chase, to familiarity, to _safety_—

With a resounding crash, a store window farther up the street shattered under the swing of a brick, followed by the blaring of the alarm as the burglar swept the whole display shelf’s worth of fine watches into his bag. For a terrifying flash in time, Marvin was paralyzed, his thoughts flurrying like the shards of glass. _He’ll come. He’s coming. He’s on his way here right now to stop that man. Run_.

Apparently the criminal was thinking similarly, as he risked grabbing only one more jade necklace before bolting down the street. Marvin stood rooted to the spot, unable to breathe. He watched the thief grow smaller…smaller…smaller…

_Maybe…he won’t come_.

_Y̷ou̧ can'̵t ͟t͏ąkę ͢th͜at҉ ̴c͏ha̢nc͢e!_ his voice of rage snarled, spurring him on with a surge of adrenaline. _R̨un̛͜͝!_

Marvin took off as fast as his legs would carry him.


	7. Chapter 7

_An alternate universe_. Clinging to the edge of his provided sink, Chase struggled for a steady breath, his reflection staring back with bloodshot, wild eyes as panic swelled and rolled, waves breaking against his sternum. At this very moment he was standing on a different Earth in a different galaxy in a different universe. Could he even be sure this place was called an “Earth”?

_I know Marvin can make portals into pocket dimensions but this?! This is next level, this is insane! He’s never been able to…But this isn’t my Marvin at all! If this Marvin is powerful enough to kidnap me from a completely different world, what else can he do?!_

As the next wave of fear crested, tears gathered in his eyes and blurred the mirror in front of him. Despite everything they had gone through, despite the countless ways his world and his circumstances had tried to tear the family apart, he had never been so far from his brothers. Not like this. For the first time he could remember, every single one of them was completely out of his reach—and he out of theirs. He had never been this alone.

His voice of vulnerability keened. **_If you never find your way back, your poor, dear brothers…The truth will never come to light! They’ll not know what ever happened to you! Gone in an instant, gone for good—_**

_They’__͘__ll t__̨__h__͞__ink y__̴__o__͝__u __̶__a__͠__band__̴__o__̡__ne__̸__d __͘__th__̷__e__͠__m_, his voice of loathing hissed. _Y__͟__ou__҉__̡__wa__̨__lke__͡__d __a__̷__w__͘__a__͘__y__͡__͝__o__͡__ne__͘__͡__day a__͜__n__̶__d ne__̴__ver re__̡__t__̶__u__r__̕__ne__̵__d…Wh__͜__at__͢__̵__wi__͜__l__̴__l__͢__̨__y__͞__o__̴__ur __͠__ch__̷__i__̧__l__͜__dr__͜__e__͘__n__̨__̸__t__͏__hi__̢__n__͠__k__?__H__̷__o__̶__w will yo__҉__ur__͡__ b__̕__roth__̴__e__͟__rs e__̡__v__̸__er __̨__expla__͟__in __̶__wh__̕__e__͢__re Da__̴__ddy__̡__ has __͢__g__͜__o__̶__ne?_

_That’s enough! Stop it!_ As Chase trembled, lowering his head with a shaky sob, his voice of safety swirled warm and close in his mind. _Deep breaths, Chase. Focus. You have to take control of your situation as best you can. You can breathe. In…and out_.

His voice of caution, ever processing, ever thinking ahead, cut in. _Does Marvin, this Marvin, even know what he’s given you? If he does not know this author Lydia, he will not even think of it before handing you the novel to read. He does not know her, so he has no reason to think that would be the thing to spark your realizing!_

_He doesn’t know _I_ know this universe is different_. Glancing back at the graphic novel he’d tossed aside, Chase pursed his lips. _Poor Jem…Is he okay in this universe without Lydia?_ But that begged a more important question: _Is Jem even okay? Where’s the JJ of this universe? The Jackie? The Schneep? They exist in this world, they have to if Marvin knows to give me gifts that remind me of them! But what if they’re being held hostage too? What if he does to them what he does to me_? Shoulders hunching in a shiver, he spun a slow circle, eyes flicking to each of the burnished walls of his prison with the anxious methodology of a bouncing ball. _Are there other rooms like this one that _they_ live in?_

Only Marvin knew, and if Chase wanted definitive answers from him, he would need a more subtle play than twisting his arm like last time. A different Marvin meant a different approach. What did Chase even know of him?

_If he’s willing to take me all the way from my world, supposedly for my own good, he really cares about me…and he’s been giving me all these peace offerings after that fight we had, even if he hasn’t talked to me. Maybe we should make a little “progress” on that front_. If there was anything he knew how to do right when no one else could, it was coaxing Marvin to open up. He just had to catch him at the right moment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chase leaned his head back, swung his arms and uncurled his stiff legs for a stretch. He had spent the majority of the evening rehearsing what he might say and then had paced long into the night. He had no idea when Marvin had been stopping by this last week to drop off his three food containers but until the moment came tonight, Chase had no way to settle his impatience and nerves.

He had to make this perfect. So many times he had buried his anxieties in a shallow grave and pasted on confidence like it was nothing—for the camera, for Stacy and the kids, even his own Marvin. He was a natural! Why was he so panicky about it now?

_Because if I don’t get this right, I’ll drive him away, we’ll have no rapport and then who knows when I’ll get another chance?_

There. Footsteps were approaching down the hall—kept light for Chase’s sake, given that he was meant to be sleeping. Biting back a sharp curse, Chase scurried to his spot by the door, dropped to the floor and went still.

The slat at the base of the door inched open little by little, Marvin clearly hoping that it wouldn’t squeak and wake him. Chase watched with baited breath as the three food containers slid inside, followed by another gift, a small music player. Chase’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of it, but he couldn’t focus on that now. _Calm. Breathe. Focus._ _Tread lightly_.

“Thank you,” he ventured.

Marvin’s hand jerked back at the words, the slat closing with a loud clang, but there weren’t any rushed footsteps retreating; apparently he was too startled to bolt right off the bat. Chase continued before he could shake off the surprise.

“And thank you for the books and games. Those’ve been pretty cool. I really…appreciated that last graphic novel.” A beat of anxious silence. “Um…how’s your arm? I hope I didn’t bust it up too bad.” Another few seconds. When he still received nothing, Chase let out an affected sigh, making certain Marvin could hear his head thump against the wall in defeat. “Sorry, I just…I can’t sleep. Nothing’s doing it for me, I’ve got a headache and I thought maybe we could…” Another sigh. “I don’t know. It’s probably stupid.”

_Don’t walk away, don’t walk away_.

“Have you been drinking the water I gave you?” _Yes!_ The magician’s voice was soft and cautious but already Chase could detect that nagging note of care through the door. Just as he’d hoped and prayed: Marvin could never resist big-brothering him. “Dehydration—well, you know it makes headaches worse.”

“Yeah, I have.” He forced a small, tired laugh. “But you know me. Even if the headache’s gone, the insomnia’s gotta pitch in.”

A pregnant pause. “I haven’t slept very well lately either. It’s probably the weather change.” Or his guilt for keeping Chase here, perhaps? Maybe he shared Chase’s thought on that, as he promptly pushed past it. “I’m…I’m fine, though. I mean my arm is fine. Since you asked. It was just a little bruised.”

“Oh.” Even in the midst of his act, Chase couldn’t help but feel a persistent, squirming twist of guilt for that. “I’m sorry about all that.”

“It’s okay. I don’t blame you. You were scared, you actually thought that I was being controlled…” The sentence trailed off into a light scoff, one that warned Chase against inquiring about Anti. _Not yet_. “But…yeah. It’s fine, it’s nothing.”

One topic gone, halting the conversation yet again. Had he and the Marvin he knew ever been this awkward, even when they were first getting to know each other? Chase doubted it. Humming uncertainly in the back of his throat, he stalled, searched quickly for something else. “So what’s on this music player?”

“Some funk, some boogie, disco. I know you like that.” _You do know me, don’t you, Marv? You always do_.

“Yeah, I like it.” With an even breath and a thin smile, Chase picked it up. “You wanna stay, listen to a few songs with me?”

The answer was immediate, hasty and almost disappointed as Marvin finally seemed to realize how long he’d been standing here. “I-I can’t. I have things to do. I should clean the kitchen.”

“Hmm. Okay. Maybe the music will help me sleep.”

Relief colored Marvin at the obvious acceptance toward his gift. “I hope so.”

It had an air of finality that urged Chase to make one more push, test just how much of that guard he could bring down. Closing his eyes, he thought of his own world, his own Marvin, the brother he truly loved, and he let that weight ease him in. Ready…Aim…

“G’night, bro.”

Marvin’s breath hitched. It was a kill shot, right in the heart. Chase felt a small burst of pride and triumph as he waited out the stinging, emotional silence. He had him.

“Goodnight, Chase,” Marvin whispered, an aching smile on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

_“G’night, bro.”_

It was incredible how two simple words could mean so much to him. Marvin couldn’t even put words to how much they meant, but he kept the phrase close in his mind, repeating it as he wandered away from Chase’s door.

When was the last time Marvin’s heart had been jumping and fluttering in his chest like this? It must have been years. Over the short course of time as he made his way back through the hallway, his cheeks were already sore and flushed from trying to recapture his old smile.

“Bro,” Chase had said. Bro. _Brother_. He had genuinely called Marvin his brother! Marvin hadn’t heard anyone say that with so much sincerity in so, so long. Even the bitter, cold voices in his head were merely low mutterings as he mulled it over, letting it sink in like a smooth stone gleaming in water. The ripples it created were ones of…Dare he call it excitement? If not that, certainly a longing fulfilled.

_I shouldn’t get my hopes up too soon, obviously_, he reminded himself, though the thought was hurried and dismissive. _This is the very first time he’s acted like this. He’s finally warming up to me! I just have to keep encouraging it. More food he likes, more gifts. I could give him some earbuds for that music player, that third graphic novel in the series_…

_Maybe I don’t have to keep dropping his meals off while he’s asleep. I could drop them off at the proper times during the day and maybe…he’d be willing to talk some more. He was the one who instigated, right? He actually _wanted_ to talk to me!_

**_You are the only voice he knows of in this outer world. He has no choice but to speak to you if there is no one else_**, his voice of distance pointed out idly.

Marvin stilled, took a breath and shook his head free of it. This was a _good_ thing, a foundation on which to build trust. He couldn’t allow himself to overthink it.

Brushing cobwebs and rust from the edges of the sink so he could scrub the dirty pans and dishes didn’t feel like such drudgery when he had these things to ponder.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Let’s try this again. Chase deserves a good breakfast_. Marvin wasn’t going to remake the crepes that had been wasted the first time. Those had been complex enough; this morning he would stretch himself even further.

How long had it been since he’d gone to such lengths to prepare a meal? Until now he had no one worth the effort, he mused ironically as he stirred some blueberry-honey compote in a saucepan. The lemon-ricotta cream was already resting in the fridge. Never mind how grayed strands of hair hung in his eyes, how his hand quivered or his neck throbbed from bending over his creation. His brother really was getting the VIP treatment.

_His brother_. _“G’night bro.”_ He had barely slept last night thanks to that and yet it _was_ a good night. The best he’d had in—

_Don’t burn the compote!_ his voice of bitterness screeched.

“Okay, okay!”

With only-slightly overcooked compote and cream poured carefully over a stack of waffles, he approached the door. All seemed still and silent within but this breakfast was meant to be enjoyed now while it was still warm. Marvin faltered, swaying back and forth uncertainly until his back twinged.

Should he knock? Chase had said the insomnia was troubling him; Marvin shouldn’t wake him if he was finally getting the rest he needed.

_I should just leave it in the door as usual. But what if he takes that to mean I’m still mad at him? He couldn’t, though; I said goodnight too! He apologized, I said I was fine! But if I wake him up by knocking, he’ll _definitely_ be grumpy_.

_I should just let him sleep—but breakfast is going to get cold just sitting there! What good are cold waffles? He won’t like them. Should I just bring it later? I should check the cameras, see if he’s asleep. Huh, I haven’t checked them in a bit, I hope they haven’t run out of charge_—

“Marvin?”

He jumped, the silverware rattling on the plate. “Chase?”

“Hey,” Chase murmured, smothering a yawn. “I think I heard you walking up.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He’d woken him anyway. _Idiot. Don’t give him time to be mad at that_. “I, uh, I brought breakfast if you’re ready for it.”

Chase’s voice took a turn for cautious surprise, perhaps suspicion. “No Tupperware appearing while I sleep?”

“No, not this time.” A long pause followed. As it verged on being stale, Marvin shuffled, bending gingerly down to the slat. “Here. Be careful, it’s hot.” As he maneuvered it through, his sleeve rode up against the edge of the opening, baring the yellowish bruises from the last time they’d tried this. When Chase hesitated to accept the plate, Marvin fractionally tensed. “If you’re not hungry, I can save it for later.” _I’m trying to show trust in you. Just take it, please_.

“I’m sorry about your arm.” The repeated sentiment was slower and firmer than it had been yesterday, as if the gravity of it was truly sinking in. Marvin’s response was to nudge the plate in a little further, coaxing, and the vlogger huffed softly. “That smells really good.”

It was a relief when Chase finally took the weight off his hand; Marvin hoped his sigh wasn’t audible as he withdrew his wrist. “I’m glad. Tell me…Tell me what you think of it.”

The scraping and squeaking of the fork seemed too shrill in the pause between them, but just as it started to grate on Marvin’s nerves Chase lit up, his volume and enthusiasm startling. “Oh, wow, that _is_ good! Dude, that is _so_ much better than the Tupperware meals. It just melts in your mouth!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! The lemon comes through really nice and sharp but the blueberry, like, sweetens it up and the waffles are really crisp around the edges and soft in the middle,” he enthused, his next exclamation muffled by a bigger bite. “Mmmh! They’re the best that way!”

“Don’t eat them too fast,” Marvin tutted lightly. “Take some time to savor it all.”

Chase had already made him smile again, just like that, he realized as his cheeks started to ache. After all this time how did he do it so effortlessly? He wasn’t expecting such high praise. If he didn’t know Chase any better, he would almost think he was putting on an effect or exaggerating just to make him happy—but would Marvin really mind if he was? He could listen to him talk for hours, as long as he wanted.

He was still going on about it now. “All of your other stuff has been fine but I didn’t know you could cook like this! Did you make the waffles from scratch?”

That was a mental slap on the wrist; he should have taken the time. Tomorrow he’d do it properly, he decided with a quick cough to clear his throat. “Ummm…yeah, I did. It took a while but it was worth it since they turned out.” He could already hear his voice of self-loathing hiss in disgust at the lie but it wasn’t loud enough to detract from the moment.

“They’re great! They don’t even need syrup.”

“Thank you, Chase.”

“Did you have yours already?”

Taken aback, he stammered faintly. “Oh—No, I made them just for you. I wasn’t really hungry.”

These days any of the fiercest hunger pangs were relegated to the moments that his magic was acting out and the soul-deep exhaustion _truly_ set in, like the world’s heel digging and twisting into the small of his back. He didn’t want to think about that. Leaning his head against the door, he fished for another small note of flattery. “So you really like them?”

“Yeah, bro.” _Again!_ Didn’t that nickname set off such a starburst of pride? “It’s been a while since I’ve had something nice and hot; I don’t have a microwave in here.”

That was an odd phrase to conclude that thought. Marvin blinked, lending more of his attention to the way Chase paused. Even the scraping of the fork had gone silent. Marvin’s contentment waned slightly and he fidgeted, trying to compensate for this new unease.

“Well…I can get you a small one, if you want. But if I bring your meals on plates instead of Tupperware, you won’t even need one—”

“Marvin.” Chase’s voice was soft, undemanding, but it still made Marvin’s skin prickle. “Please. Why am I in here?”

**_No_**. With a single word his voice of distance closed over him like a stage curtain. Dragging himself to his feet, Marvin ran a hasty hand through his hair and exhaled tersely. “Leave your plate by the door when you’re done with it.”

“Wait, I—Marvin—!”

He swept away without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writer to the boys: COMMUNICATE!  
The boys: Uh? Um? What? Uh, help?
> 
> They have no idea how to talk to each other like normal people XD
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry that it's taken so long for me to come back to this. Thanks to health issues I was bedridden for the entire month of February and then of course with all the chaos March and April have brought, it's been weird. This chapter was going to be longer but I had to split it in two. Enjoy anyway! Hopefully the second half will be up soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Spurred on by toxic adrenaline, Marvin’s thoughts were akin to cars fighting each other to speed down a dead end street, back and forth, around and around, over and over and over. He stood at the end of the street, paralyzed, ready for the cars to pile up and plow into him.

**_A daft, paranoid, inconsiderate fool, you are_**, Distance dismissed him.

_Tell him_, Bitterness goaded on_. Tell Chase Brody everything, see how much he will care for you then_.

_What was that about getting your hopes up too soon?_ Admonishment mocked._ You idiot. You can’t even hold a real conversation with him_.

**_Selfish, untrustworthy_**.

_D__e_ _̷__c_ _̷__ei_ _̡__ve__r!_

“I’m not deceiving him! I—I’m trying to make this work!” he pleaded, pacing the length of the lab. He would smear his trail of footsteps into the grime on the floor at this rate. “I just want him to _love_ me again! I need that support! If he finds out before he loves and trusts me as his brother, it’ll ruin everything! I can’t let that happen after everything I’ve done, I can’t!”

He was spiraling. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea? How did he come this far? He just wanted the voices to _stop_, they were burning into every pore.

_Can something in a cage really love the one who put it there?_

_Yo__̢__u__̴__r __͘__br__̕__othe__҉__r __͜__i__̡__s__͟__ y__̷__our __̷__p__̶__et no__͝__w! Wil__͏__l yo__͏__u co__͘__ll__̴__a__͠__r and ch__̧__a__̢__in h__im __҉__t__͞__o__̛__ a__͟_ _͏__p__͜__o__͞__s__͞__t __͜__nex__t?_

_You’ll never let him free. Jailed and lonely—that is where he belongs best, isn’t it?_

_Treacher_, Sam snarled from the bottom of his tank.

**_Imprisoner_**.

_Pathetic_. _Hopeless_.

_Look at yourself. Look what you’ve done. You’re worthless, you’re deranged, falling apart, insane. He’ll never accept you no matter how long you keep him here_—

“It’s not a cage! I’m keeping him _safe!_” The desperate cry warbled and echoed against the cracked walls as he sagged onto the broken couch behind him, black spots drifting through his vision. Though blurred, he could still feel the oppression and judgment of Sam’s gaze, beating down like a hammer on a nail.

Head heavy, he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on something else, anything else. He inhaled deeply, dragging every spare particle of magic in the room to cling to him. A meager warmth coasted over his skin. On his exhale, he sent them scattering once more, let them float like dandelion seeds and settle where they pleased.

_Inhale…warmth. Exhale…cool. Calm_. Magic was the only thing to silence the voices. Like a drug, the further he strained for its bliss, the worse its side effects became. The voices were soon replaced with a resoundingly painful drum in his skull. The headache was lodged so deep in him that the agony almost didn’t matter. It was something familiar, something reliable.

“Tired” couldn’t even begin to describe this state. He inhaled again, the warmth tickling his senses—a few old piano notes of comfort hidden under the drum. _That_ was the reason he called on it.

Sam cursed and swatted at him on the borders of his mind, perhaps trying to compound the ache out of spite, but his magic was stronger now that it was centering. The pain drowned out the voices as the warmth drowned out his demons.

Sparks sizzling softly at the edge of his fringe, burning the brown to gray, he let his head fall back against the misshapen cushions.

So tired. Tired of everything.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Sunspots danced like soft kisses on Marvin’s face and eyelids. It would have been easy to doze like this, with the cool earth, sponge and grass pillowing his head, the gentle wind combing its fingers through his hair and carrying playful shouts on its current. As his mind started to drift, however, two silhouettes stumbled in, laughing and panting, and blocked the sun overhead. _

_Squinting sleepily up at them with a lazy smile, he nudged a few fingers in a wave. “Hey, you two. Finally get worn out over there?”_

_“The kids have gone mad with power! That’s the fourth round we’ve lost,” Chase announced with a winded grin as Stacy leaned into him for balance. “No thanks to you, of course.”_

_“You should’ve asked before I got comfortable!”_

_“You say that like you would’ve said yes,” Stacy pointed out teasingly._

_“Okay, fair point.” _

_Marvin trailed off as he watched them, Chase twisting the brim of his hat back so it wouldn’t be obstructive as he moved to kiss Stacy’s cheek and hair. Humming appreciatively, she curled deeper into his arms, letting him sway her back and forth to the breeze like they were a pair of flowers growing from the same root. _

_“You’re perfect together,” he found himself saying, genuinely, as fondness tugged at his lips. Just as he knew they would, they broke free, flushed and laughed shyly. “I’m serious. I don’t think anybody could love you the way you love each other.”_

_“I don’t know, bro, I’d say you come pretty close.” _

_Even as Marvin tsked dismissively he arose, wrapping an arm around Chase’s shoulders as Stacy took his other hand to squeeze. “Yeah…I love you both.” _

_The others’ voices were drawing near. When he glanced past Chase’s soft expression, he could see the kids sprinting up the hill, waving and whooping, with the others following close behind with such vivid smiles. Marvin’s heart swelled._

_“I love you all.”_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marvin hit the cold floor of the lab with a weighty thud and a screamed slew of curses, droplets of sweat flying as he rolled over to grab at nothing air. “_No!_ No—” Clouds of dust that spilled from the couch cushions made him gag, swiping haphazardly at the strands of hair that clung to his damp face. His nails caught on the old scars, stinging, yet it was only after he’d scratched himself twice more that he truly felt it and bit down on his knuckles to stop.

For a long while he couldn’t find the strength to rise. The scene kept repeating on a loop in his mind, taunting, stealing what little warmth remained. Sam lashed his tail disdainfully nearby but Marvin couldn’t bring himself to scrape up any dignity in front of him. He just…needed a minute to recover.

His legs were asleep and tingling by the time he managed to pull himself up. He swayed through the blood rush, waited until his ears stopped pounding and then retreated with nausea and dread seeping down his back.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t experienced nightmares like that before. They were common, in fact, but some inane part of him had hoped that once Chase was back they would ease up.

Agitated, disoriented, he tried to blink away the flashes of sunspots and swaying and flowers in favor of the kitchen clock. As soon as it registered, he swore, horror welling in the back of his throat. Evening already! How could he have slept so long? How could he have let Chase go hungry?

_He’ll hate me!_

With a sloppy, substandard sandwich thrown together from whatever he could reach first, he rushed down the hall, wrangling the door open without a second thought. “Chase, I’m—!”

The bedroom lights were off. Marvin stiffened, unsure, and then peered worriedly closer to make out the slowly, shallowly breathing form curled up in bed. _Oh…Oh, no_. Shoulders sagging in shameful realization, he slumped against the doorframe.

_He went to bed starving. He must have thought I didn’t feed him today to _punish_ him…How can he sleep? I didn’t mean to_…

Tears pricked his eyes as he set the pitiful sandwich on the floor, reaching with a clammy hand to grab the empty breakfast plate.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed as he turned away from his failure enveloped in misery, pulling the door closed behind him.

The lock didn’t click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I didn't get much feedback on the last chapter, I have a feeling that some of you missed it. **Make sure** you've read Chapter 9, as the ending of it sets up all of Chapter 10!

After a long night of fitful stops and starts, Chase awoke yet again to the gnawing, snarling and howling of his hollow stomach. Grimacing against the complaints, he curled into a tighter ball and stuffed his face into his pillow, trying to re-smother the emptiness in dejected darkness.

What little snippets he could recall in his sluggish state were dreams of food, slipping out of his grasp just when he was about to bite down on it, and Marvin perched on the edge of a full table in the far distance with a malicious grin on his face. Now even those dreams were less than forthcoming; his stomach would settle for nothing but the real thing.

With a deep sigh he let heavy eyes crack open, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the gurgling and groaning continued. What would he do if Marvin refused to bring him breakfast, as he had lunch and dinner yesterday? Maybe Chase would stay here all day, huddled away in bed, feeling sorry and spiteful. His stomach lining felt like it was seizing up in knots and—was that turkey he smelled?

Any remaining notion of sleep vanished without a trace as he bolted upright in bed, zeroing in on the source of that aroma: a halfhearted sandwich on a plate by the door. Pain, shock and gratitude soared through him as he lunged for it.

The bread was soggy, the meat was sliced too thin, the mustard was in salty globs and Chase devoured it just as eagerly as he had the premium waffles. He hadn’t felt this sick and frantic since he’d refused Marvin’s food the first week, an eternity ago. How had he brought himself to endure it so long the first time?

_What was the point? Why’d he go and starve me? Some kind of exercise in obedience: ask no questions and you get to eat?_ he wondered bitterly he licked the last of the mustard from his fingers. _Well, if that’s the way you want to be, Marv, I’ve learned my lesson. But screw you anyway_. With what small rebellion he could muster, he kicked a foot at the door—and promptly stopped dead when it clicked softly under the force.

_No way_.

Openmouthed, he ran his hand along the seam, a shaky gasp escaping him as probing fingers found slight purchase on the edge of the stile. It was cracked open just half an inch, even less, but it _was_ open!

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t truly be happening.

Head spinning with a combined rush of euphoria and terror, he gripped at the edge. Thoughts of fresh air, the sky, the sun, _freedom_, _home_ swept over him, swelling in his chest even as his mental voices clamored.

What if this was a setup? Chase could open this door and fall right into a greater trap but if this was his one and only chance, after _so long_…Whichever the case may be, he knew in his very soul that this would never happen again.

The door groaned softly as he coaxed it open little by little. A wash of air, musty but cool, raised goosebumps on his arms as weak light bathed him from above. He was faced with a hallway.

His heart thundered like a racehorse’s hooves as he clung to the doorframe and leaned out, peeking his head perilously at one end of the hall, then the other. Marvin was nowhere in sight.

_Trap, trick, trap, trick_.

Knees weak, he took his first quaking step beyond the threshold and froze, expecting something to spring or snatch at him. Nothing did.

**_Make a mad dash, scurry to the nearest door!_** his voice of vulnerability cried, piped down by his voice of caution guiding, _Slow. Silent. Find out where you are_.

Sweat beading down the back of his neck, he crept to the left, approaching what looked to be an open floor. The closer it loomed, however, the harder his chest clenched and his lungs threatened to give out.

It was unrecognizable yet somehow unmistakable. This was _their home_. This was Egos Incorporated—dimmer, distorted, like a reflection in a mud puddle.

The carpet muffled his steps but barely gave under his feet, matted flat and ingrained with fallen hair, mud and dark splashes that Chase didn’t want to identify. The ceiling fan hung still, dust clumped in chunks to strings of cobwebbing that dangled from its blades. Paper and paint peeled from the fissured walls, some of it faded, shriveling, some seemingly ripped away.

The kitchen was the only area remotely maintained—the counters discolored but dusted, the sink rusted but still offering water. The intermittent dripping, combined with the sputtering hum of the light fixtures, was the only noise to fill the silence.

The burnished wood dining room table was rotting, bowed in the center, and the former coffee table was nothing but a warped frame and broken glass. The TV screen was scratched and spotty and the piano sank sideways, propped on two hobbled legs and half-hidden under a torn sheet. Yellowed ivory keys were scattered around it in every direction.

In a numb, twisted reverie Chase turned away, only to flinch at the muffled crunch of glass and paper underneath him: a photo, bent and tattered in its frame. His mouth went dry.

His own face smiled brightly back at him…Marvin’s too, but there were other bodies in the picture standing with them, scratched and scribbled into obscurity from their chests up. Chase didn’t need to see their faces to know; even through the damage he could make out the stark red jumpsuit, the white lab coat.

_Why? _

Other pictures had been disfigured and littered nearby, some shredded into halves and thirds, others scorched to black ash. The few frames still on the walls were the ones that held pictures of him and Marvin alone.

_Why? Why is it like he wants to erase any memory of them? They’re our brothers! They’re_—

His voice of safety barged in, startling him out of his daze with a thrill of hope. _Backdoor!_

Heart leaping into his throat, he dodged the table and fallen chairs, sweeping the dust-laden curtain aside to see a gray, storm-sick sky through the smudged glass. The backyard was a ruin, every flower strangled and overrun by weeds, but he hardly gave them a thought. There was a lock bar strapped across the door, thick, rounded steel—the one piece of metal that wasn’t rusted.

If he could jump the fence, he’d be free to run for it. He could start the journey to the city, find some help there, someone to hide him until Marvin gave up.

_H__̴__e__̶_ _̛__n__͏__e__͡__ve__̧__r__̡_ _͡__wi__̧__ll_. Panic provoking him, he snatched at the lock bar with both hands and strained, muscles quivering in vain. _Fo__͜__o__̴__l__͞__!__͘_ Loathing snarled._ F__̧__i__͘__n__͡__d__͘__ so__͟__me__̷__thi__̶__ng__͜__ t__̨__o s__͞__hatte__͞__r __̡__the __҉__g__̸__lass!_

Another frantic pan around the room revealed nothing immediate. The furniture was too decayed to hold up; it would probably break against the door rather than the reverse. Praying for a miracle, he jogged to one of the other closed doors and jostled the handle, relief bursting through him as it gave way.

It was a bedroom, three walls coated in gray, the other red. The bed may be stripped and the closet empty but the bookcases and their contents were untouched, not at all like the rest of the house’s unseemly state. Graphic novels, figurines, picture frames, awards—Jackieboy’s trinkets, all cleaned and preserved.

Throwing a set of novels from the top shelf onto the floor, Chase seized the stone block bookend, weighing it in his palm. If his aim was true and he put all his force behind it, this could do the job.

“_Chase!_”

“Ahh—!” Chase stumbled in his fright, falling against the bookcase and lobbing the bookend in the same motion. Marvin deflected it with a fling of his arm, magic embedding it in the far wall with a crash.

“What are you doing here? How did you get out?! Do you _realize_ what you could have done?!” he bellowed, eyes wild as he charged in.

“No, s-stay away from me!” Chase yelped, diving under his outstretched hands for a reckless lunge to the door.

“_Go back to your room!_”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter has been sitting half finished on my computer for like six months. I'm sorry, I hope it's worth the wait. ;-; Still, I'm going to write this story to completion no matter how long it takes.

“Chase! Stop, now! _Stop!_ You can’t run from me; there’s nowhere to go!”

He could and he would. Sweat flinging from his wild hair as he tripped over his own feet, Chase bolted back out to the common area. Marvin was already hot on his heels, hand swinging past his arm to snatch him, a miss so narrow that Chase could feel the swipe of air on his skin. Scrambling behind the dining room table for cover, he hugged the nearest, sturdiest chair, heaving it into the air.

“Get back!” he snapped frantically, fleet feet dodging back and forth as he jabbed the legs at him. He was at a loss for anything else to do, though the magic crackling in Marvin’s hands warned him that he would need another option fast.

“How did you get out?!” the magician growled again. Somehow he was already breathless and sweating from that small burst of exertion, his stance swaying cagily back and forth. “It shouldn’t be possible! I made sure the room was secure, I made it safe for you!”

“Yeah, well, even you aren’t infallible,” Chase hissed, knuckles white where he gripped the chair, twisting it accusingly. “You left the door unlocked.”

“What?! No, that’s not possible! I couldn’t have—Oh, last night! Stupid, stupid! Should’ve made sure, should’ve checked the feed…Need to check and recheck, needs maintenance…” Hand half-lifted to drag through his unruly mane, Marvin jerked and stuttered, as if only just noticing the flames coiling around his fingers. Throwing his head back, he keened harshly. “I can’t let you—Ugh, it’s just going to ruin everything! It’s not safe, Chase! You can’t be here!”

“So I _won’t_ be! I’m leaving, Marv, and I’m not gonna let you get in the way!” With that he launched the chair, gasping at the heat of the fireball that roared up in response. The projectile was enveloped and scorched away instantly, a mountain of ash blanketing the floor, but those few seconds that the smoke bought him were precious.

Praying it was the same placement in this world as his own, Chase clambered for one of the kitchen drawers, silverware ringing and scattering. Fingers gashing on his target’s edge, he twisted sideways, grip clumsy as he tore it out and swung at the cursing, coughing blur in his peripheral vision. _It’ll stop him, it has to!_

And that it did. Marvin skidded to a stop just short of arms’ length, outstretched hands recoiling by instinct to shield his throat. The magic shining in his wide eyes flared, sizzled and blinked out, overcome by a flashback of age-old threats.

“Stay away.” Chase’s nervous murmur was a strangled one, yet he didn’t hesitate to tighten his grip on the handle, blood from his new cuts making it slippery. If there was anything that could give a Septic pause, it was this. Chase knew that like he knew his own name—and Marvin knew that he knew.

The tension that gathered on the shining edge of the knife was caustic. Marvin lowered his hands, clenched, to his sides, jaw working as something almost like _betrayal_ crossed his features. “Chase…”

That tone spoke many volumes: hurt, anger, authority, warning. In truth Chase wasn’t used to standing up to that voice, and Marvin—his Marvin—wasn’t used to being told no. But this wasn’t his Marvin.

_I don’t answer to you. Suck it_.

“I want out,” Chase announced, shakier than he had intended. Sucking in a deep breath, he steeled himself and tried again. “I’m not going back to that room…_cell_. I don’t want to be part of whatever weird power fantasy you’ve got going, okay? I don’t belong in there! Now…Now you’re gonna step back and I’m going to go right out the front door. And you’re not gonna follow me. Got it?”

Equally foreign to a “no” from Chase was the idea of following orders from him. Marvin wasted no time in squaring his shoulders, planting his feet precisely where he stood. He wasn’t moving. Despite this cold stance, his voice was soft when he answered. “It isn’t worth it. Don’t bother trying. I really…_really_ don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve placed an enchantment on every door to the outside. Only I can break it.”

_No. No, no, no_. “You’re bluffing.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” Ignoring the incredulous scoff he received at that, Marvin glanced aside, blinking away sweat. “Not about something like this. I would’ve taken it down eventually, if you had just been _patient_ and _waited_ in your room like you were supposed to! You weren’t meant come out until I could trust you not to run. But now I see that I can’t…so I won’t.”

_Mak__̸__e__҉__ h__̡__im_, Loathing snarled as frustration and indignation swept over Chase like a rain of thorns. _Thr__͡__ea__͞__ten hi__̷__m__҉_ _̕__u__͡__nti__̴__l__͞__ he__̴_ _obe__̧__ys__̢__!_

_Threatening him won’t do any good! We both know he’s more powerful than I am; the first time I saw him, his magic knocked me out right after like it was nothing! And it…it’s still Marvin. I don’t really want to hurt him. I just want him to stop all of this and let me go_.

_W____ell__̢__,__͡__ g__̢__r__͏__ov__͡__e__̵__l__͢__in__̨__g__͞_ _̵__and__͠__ fl__͜__a____ttery did__̷__n'__͠__t__҉__ wo__͠__r__̧__k__͟__ e__̡__ith__͟__e__̕__r! Wh____a__͏__t ot__̴__he__̵__r c__̵__h__͢__oi__̵__ce__͢_ _͡__d__͞__o__͢_ _͡__y__̡__o__̢__u__҉__ h____a__̧__ve, coward?!_

“Don’t try that door, Chase,” Marvin repeated, now in a sigh. Any trace of residual rage had vanished, leaving behind a weathered man who looked…very worried and tired. “Please. The last thing we want is a hospital visit, _trust_ me.” At Chase’s furrowed brows, he seemed to waver momentarily, twisting the hem of his shirt. “It’s not _meant_ to hurt you! I-I didn’t mean to make it so…My magic’s a little…It’s just supposed to be a preventative measure.”

“Why do we even need it?” Chase probed warily.

Silence. Typical of this Marvin when faced with any important questions, Chase was discovering. Little by little the magician’s eyes glazed over as he kept twisting his shirt, sluggish and rhythmic, his thoughts obviously drifting somewhere far, far away.

Was he off in the head somehow, apart from the demented aspects of kidnapping and imprisonment? Did he somehow forget in the space of a minute that he was being held at knifepoint? Chase opened his mouth to demand again, only for the other to sway, blink fiercely and shake himself.

“Complicated. Too much, too complicated. You’re, uh…The spell is a safety net. Just don’t—don’t touch it.” Steadying himself, he recentered, face setting back into measured composure. “Fine, then. If you insist on pitching this…fit or riot, whatever you want to call it, and making it that much more difficult for both of us, how about we find a compromise?”

It was a rhetorical question, it seemed. As Marvin wrenched a hand sideways, Chase couldn’t help but jump at the sound of doors slamming and locking down the hall, Jackieboy’s nearby bedroom included. The doorframe shimmered, discolored magic cascading down its surface like strings of fairy lights.

Was that what he had done to all of the escape routes? That which could supposedly put him in the hospital if he so much as brushed against it? The danger was disappointingly beautiful, Chase noted as his heart sank into his stomach.

Marvin shrugged then, a rough, awkward motion that cracked his neck. “There. That’s it. Now with those doors locked, you’ll stay in the common areas, where I can still keep watch over you. No bedrooms—except the one I gave you, if…if you end up wanting it.”

Both of them understood just how unlikely that would be but Marvin didn’t recant. “It’s the one good bed I’ve got. More comfortable for you than whatever you might find out here.” He let out a terse breath, peering around as if only just noticing their dilapidated surroundings and how they bothered him. “If you’re wondering, the heater’s off in the shower. The TV…probably doesn’t work. Sorry.”

“Wow, we’ve hit a milestone! Your first genuine apology,” Chase muttered. Judging by Marvin’s hesitation, the words stung but he soldiered on with some difficulty.

“Since you’re out here now, you can look through the fridge for food. I’ve got…some of your favorites stocked up. And I’ll grab some bandages for your hand.”

He’d nearly forgotten about the new cuts on his fingers, Chase noticed as he flexed them and they started to sting. With it came renewed awareness of the knife that had been gradually dipping lower between them. When he brought it back up, Marvin audibly suppressed another sigh.

“That won’t do you any good. Making me bleed won’t lower the barriers.” With that blunt statement, he took a sidestep, then another, testing Chase’s resolve. “The gauze and bandages are in the lab. I’m going now.”

“Wait, what did you mean just now?” Chase challenged one last time. “‘_Still_ keep watch’? Have you been spying on me, while I was in there?” The idea of it shouldn’t be surprising, but the thought of this Marvin being a voyeur to his moments of weakness in that room—the defeat, the anxiety attacks, the tears—made his skin prickle.

“The cameras aren’t for spying; they’re for security, just like everything else I’ve put in place. I only use them when I think it’s _necessary_ to keep tabs on you.” A stilted, forced laugh found its way out of him. “Now I know. Without adult supervision, you start pulling stunts like this.”

_Stunts_, he said, as if Chase was being the unreasonable one! Ludicrous. Jaw clenching, Chase pivoted stiffly, making room for Marvin to pass down the hall. Marvin grimaced slightly, clearly sensing that the quip was ill-received, and wisely opted not to linger.

As soon as he was out of sight, Chase rounded on the furniture and the chipped, scuffed walls with a new flare of defiance. _Stunts, huh? Sure, Marv, I’ll show you some real stunts_. First order of business: finding and destroying as many cameras as he could in this room before his captor rushed back to stop him.


	12. Chapter 12

_Three and a half weeks_.

Three and a half weeks since Marvin had wrenched awake with a ragged scream, feeling like someone had punched a hole in his chest.

Three and a half weeks since he’d half-stumbled, half-crawled from his room to the others, everything in his body singing, _Wrong! Wrong! Danger!_

Three and a half weeks since they had broken down Chase’s door to find nothing but his hat, phone and wristwatch strewn on the floor. Weeks of terror, rage, grief and determination warring within Marvin as he drilled through every tome on his shelf, searching and scanning for answers in every line, for some kind of sign.

By only the sixth day his fingers were bloody with papercuts and burnt from entangling too many spells at once but the others knew better than to try stopping him. They were far too busy with their own search methods.

Jackieboy had scoured the city, cashed in as many favors as he could spare, dragged as many police officers as he could get his hands on into the search. It was a testament to how much of their faith he had earned, working with them over the years. “He’s my friend,” he said, and that was all they needed to know.

Schneep contacted every hospital, every urgent care, every house caller he could think of in the city, then as many as he knew in the Ipliers’ city. Dr. Iplier had sworn he would do what he could on his end, though who knew how much?

Whenever he wasn’t on the phone, Henrik was crying into scarred, shaking hands. “I wish it were me. If the monster has him, if Chase must endure what I did…” There were nightmares and horrors in his eyes that wouldn’t let him elaborate. “I wish it were me. I would take his place, I would endure it all again if it would spare him!”

Jameson, meanwhile, did the work that was left by the wayside: food, water, blankets when the others finally passed out with their desks as their pillows. After the initial panic he seemed to go into shock. China-pale and puffy-eyed, he drifted from task to task in a daze. His speech slides were scarce, his signs nonexistent. On the rare occasion that he rested, he prayed.

There were no traces of static lingering in Chase’s room—not a speck, not a flicker. Emergency calls and hospital reports of stab wounds came up empty. Chase’s gun was still in its locked drawer, as were the bullets. There was no note to detail a goodbye. When Marvin grit his teeth, swallowed his pride and bitterness and called Stacy, she said that neither she nor the children had heard from Chase in a couple of months.

That should have been a relief, a sign that this wasn’t another attempt. Chase wouldn’t dare try to leave this world again without telling Brianna and Connor that he loved them one last time. Nevertheless the fear churned, always, in the back of Marvin’s mind.

_What if he did try to reach the kids but couldn’t get through, so he gave up? What if he doesn’t have his gun because he’s going to try some other way? What if he took the note with him so it would be on his body when he’s found?_

_No. No. I would know_. _I would have felt it_.

That tether he held, that thin lifeline tangled up around Chase’s soul was all that Marvin could count on every day. Chase’s face card, the King of Clubs, could not locate him, aimlessly fluttering up and down the streets. With every dead end the card’s enchantment found, Marvin was taken back to the days of watching Schneep’s card tumble in the wind, unable to reach him in the pocket dimension where Anti had stashed him away.

That train of thought found a new track.

Three and a half weeks since this new twist of their living nightmare began and at long, long last, they had found something solid to stand on.

Marvin’s plan had been to utilize his soul bond with Chase from the start, combing through dimensions one by one, searching for any pang, any sensation. Yesterday afternoon, however, Dr. Iplier had called Henrik to pass on a message.

“The Host is well aware of the Septic Egos’ trouble. Marvin the Magnificent approaches it on too small a scale. Pocket dimensions will prove trivial, fruitless…but the Host Sees beyond. For the price of a future favor, he may be of assistance in locating Chase Brody’s thread of reality.”

It was the easiest debt they could ever agree to. Another nine months with a hole in their household was _not_ an option.

Marvin emerged on the opposite side of the portal, the opposite side of the _universe_, with Jackieboy tensed for a fight beside him. Schneep was quick on their heels, machete raised for an upswing, and Jameson had his sword cane drawn before his feet even hit the rocks. It wavered in his hand, however, as he laid eyes on the city in the middle distance.

**“Jeepers…That truly is Elvery Heights. It’s the spitting image of our own…yet darker,”** he murmured in wary disbelief.

“I don’t understand. Should this portal not have taken us straight where we should be? We are on the outskirts,” Schneep demanded.

“The Host wasn’t about to do all our work for us—and it’s probably better that we haven’t been dropped into the middle of a fight,” Jackie pointed out. “We know nothing about this place. We should find our bearings first.”

“We should find _Chase_; he’s waiting for us somewhere in there and I’m not going to waste any time sightseeing! We need to get in, get out and get him home!” Marvin snapped, pushing past him into a jog toward the far street. “I’m going to West General, Schneep; if he’s hurt, the Anti of this universe would probably dump him there for _you_ to find!”

He had hardly sprinted ten feet before Jackieboy caught up with him. “Marvin,” he began in a warning voice.

“I _feel_ him now. He’s here and he’s _frightened_,” Marvin snarled, dodging the hand that grabbed for his shoulder. “Isn’t this how you felt when Schneep was gone? Can’t you understand, you of all people?! Wouldn’t you do anything to get him back, no matter the risks? You would’ve plowed right in too if you knew where he was and I will _not_ hesitate to do the same! Chase is—”

“I know. I know, Marvin.” Jackie matched pace with him, gaze steady, low voice unfaltering. “But even if I had found out where Anti kept Henrik, I would’ve been an idiot to go alone, with no reconnaissance and no plan. I don’t doubt for even a second that I would’ve gotten us both killed.”

“I don’t plan to make that mistake.”

“It would be an even bigger mistake to leave us behind! He’s not just your brother. You think JJ wouldn’t do whatever it takes to save his dad right now? But he’s keeping it together and coming along with a level head. We’re all here to _help_ you.”

Muscles twitching in his jaw, Marvin quickened his stride. _I’m coming, Chase. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on_.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All of the buildings, the streets, the parks, shops and walkways—They all seemed to be “right” but Henrik couldn’t shiver away this uneasy chill from his back as he followed Marvin and Jackieboy toward the hospital. It was _his_ hospital. Shouldn’t he feel at ease, knowing this street so well? But as intricate as the familiar surroundings may be, they didn’t hold up well when he _truly_ looked. It was like an optical illusion or a spot-the-difference game, everything further skewed as he ventured further in.

The passing cars were few and far between, the pedestrians dotted across the street so rarely that it was startling to see one. None of them smiled. None of them even seemed to care about each other’s existence. Unlike the civilians at home, these people didn’t give a second glance to the “quadruplet” Egos passing them. They didn’t bat a lash at their attire, didn’t bother meeting their eyes.

**“You feel it creeping up on you too, doc?”** Jameson shivered beside him, leaning on his sheathed cane to keep up. **“The cold? The strangeness of it all? I can’t rightly put my finger on why but this place feels…ill, like the heart has drained from it. I find myself hoping that the _hospital_ will show happier signs of life!”**

“I hope that too.” Thanks to those words his patients’ faces were already flashing in his mind as they stopped before the double doors. “Okay…it looks normal enough, the way I know it…”

“You’re obviously the one who can get in and check around for any sign of him the fastest without being suspected,” Marvin announced, wasting no time to steer him forward by the shoulder. “You know where they keep the patient logs, right?”

“If they keep them where they do at home, yes, but that is an ‘_if_’,” he reminded him tersely. “This is a different world, Marvin; we do not know if I even work here, if I have ever worked here. Hopefully my coat and expert doctoring will let me pass through at a glance but if it doesn’t—”

“Henrik? Is that you standing dillydally around I see? I thought you were scurrying out to fetch our coffee twenty minutes ago!”

All other fears fled his mind at the call and left him paralyzed at the sound of that voice. Marvin and Jameson retreated a few feet, taken aback, but Jackieboy wasted no time shouldering defensively between him and the approaching figure.

“What’s going on? Henrik?” Albrecht repeated, glancing curiously between the rigid pair. “If you don’t hurry to the shop, our break will be over before you’re back.”

Henrik could only stare at his old enemy, openmouthed, drawing a blank on any possible response. The mere fact that Albrecht was unmasked, ungloved and clean of any bloodstains was enough to render him speechless. Jackieboy didn’t suffer that malady.

“What are you doing here, Doll Maker?” he barked.

“That’s the Doll Maker?” Marvin breathed, glancing at Jameson as he tightened white knuckles around the head of his cane.

“Well?” Jackie spat, eyes burning. “Have you been waiting for us to arrive? Are you the one who’s taken him?”

A snort of bewildered concern escaped Albrecht as he shifted back, hands lifted placatingly. “Very sorry, sir, but I imagine you think of someone else. I have never heard of any ‘Doll Maker’; I do not know why you call me that. Do you need a doctor’s help? Who was taken from you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Are you trying to mock us?”

“Not at all! If you are looking for a patient, you can ask the front desk in there—or if you would like to wait just a tick, my friend Dr. Schneeplestein and I can gladly listen to your story and see if there is anything we can—”

A nearby crash, splash and clatter cut him off before he could finish, making them jump. As he spun sideways Albrecht lit up, calling out, “Oh, hello! There is the coffee! I—”

“Schneep,” Marvin whispered.

Jameson flinched. Jackie swore.

Albrecht wavered uncertainly, glancing to and fro with the same disbelief mirrored on the others’ faces. “W-Wait. Wait a moment…How can there be—?”

As the steaming brew collected in a puddle that stretched for his shoes, Henrik remained absolutely still, unable to breathe. On the other side of that gap, his other self, bony, pallid and haggard, stared him down with sunken eyes that still shone as cold and sharp as razorblades.

“What is this?” he hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the _real_ ones come into play.  
Happy year-and-one-month anniversary since I started posting this on Ao3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're enjoying! Feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you liked about it! I'm always happy to hear from you <3


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